In Too Deep - A Mick Rawson Ficlit
by Johnswelsh
Summary: Bored, playing with some characterization and exploring a bit of my backstory for Mick Rawson. This is a part of my RP verse. Warnings for trauma and implied Prophick, post series.


A nightmare.

For most, this would be considered normal, especially for those with trauma and PTSD, something he was very familiar with. But for him, well, he wasn't prone to nightmares. It was what made sleep bearable, what made him happy to pass out and just not think for a few hours.

But he'd had a nightmare. Something had to have triggered it, be it stress or just the workings of the day, or his problems finally catching up on him.

Either way, it shook him to his core.

It was another dream about Prophet, He's long since thought he'd been over it, but the way he jerked awake and shook from the aftermath of what his brain had played out for him, it wasn't good.

Forcing himself awake he rolled to sit up and swayed when his vision started to black, mind screaming that he was moving too quick for a man half awake. Ethan was gone, he could tell, there was just that feeling he had. And well, his shoes were gone. But he was grateful for his current partner's hospitality, letting the Welshman crash on his couch while they worked out new jobs and debated on what to work on next. Made Mick's life a lot easier, not having to deal with where he was going to live or what he was going to do for food and shelter. For now, at least.

Combing his fingers through his longer hair, Mick groaned as he attempted to force himself awake, coughing slightly as he felt that need for nicotine start to tickle into him. The smoking habit was something he'd picked up again to deal with the stress, "better than drugs", he'd say as he'd light up. He'd managed to quit for several years but the added stress of losing his team and being left on his own had somewhat caused him to invest again in the habit. he just knew Jenna would berate him until he quit the next time he'd visit her.

Finally waking up and having his night vision come to him, Mick blinked around the almost empty apartment, barely noticing the folding table next to the couch with his car keys and a pack of cigarettes resting on the rotten and peeled surface. The sight of it made him smirk. He remembered almost collapsing when he came back to Detroit, completely exhausted and almost seconds from passing out. He'd probably just thrown his stuff around the couch, not even caring what he could end up losing before he'd fallen asleep. He was probably so fucking pathetic that the other assassin had to have taken pity and set aside the important things for him to find later. Made sense, the man had misplaced his own car before. That was a fun trip.

Finally standing and yanking a cigarette from the package, he grabbed one of the throw blankets over his shoulders, snatching a spinning barstool from the bar and he shuffled to the window, knowing full well Ethan didn't care where he smoked but Mick's politeness won over, especially knowing Ethan's "healthy" ways. Wasn't his place, and unfortunately it was far too cold outside to clamor up to the roof. He'd have to figure out that parkour thing someday.

He had to admit, even in the slums, the city had a beautiful glow at night. Nothing like the cities in Europe though, Mick still had that attachment that made him wonder why the Hell he was still out in about in America. He was sure Jenna could take him in, talk to her fiance', help him find something mundane and bloody _normal_, but he knew he never could return to civilian life. He was in too deep, he realized. It would probably only be a few years before he snapped.

In all honesty, he was surprised he hadn't snapped yet.

Maybe what he did grounded him. Technically, it wasn't illegal, considering his employers. Snipers who were quick, clean, and experienced were in high demand, and well, he fit that category. Profession or not he still wondered if he was doing the right thing.

Hell, he was thirty four. He was allowed to have a midlife crisis.

He didn't even turn around when he door opened and Ethan muttered out a "hey bro", Mick absently waving before taking another drag off his cigarette and blowing smoke out the window. One of these days, he was going to have to work out these issues. At least he had Ethan, Lenny, and Mal, made his life a bit easier with friends he cared for and who he never had to really worry about. Didn't mean he didn't still worry.

This was his life now. He'd become strangely accustomed to it. It was enough to make him happy, he supposed. If it kept him alive, he assumed ti was good enough. Didn't mean he didn't miss the clean cut life, but this was who he was. What he'd become after losing so much.

Maybe that's why he'd resolved to clinging on to anything he could. There was nothing wrong with that, right?

Right?


End file.
